O trespass sweetly urg'd
by StardustToRememberYouBy
Summary: With that, she disappears out the door and you're left in the silence of her departure, wondering who the hell this woman is and how you'll get to see her again. Chibs x OFC. Rating for later chapters, pervasive language, and violence. IN-PROGRESS. Second-person. Alternating POVs.
1. Chibs I

Your eyes flutter open and closed and open once again. You recognize that you're in a hospital, which is fortunate given that the last thing you remember is bellowing "Shit!" just prior to a fiery explosion cracking your head open on the pavement behind your head.

Now there were nurses and doctors flittering in and out of the room, which kind of bothered you. Having other people see you like this was enough to hurt your ego, though, these days, it was rough enough in your life without allowing pride to take hold of everything you did.

Your head kills like some kind of sick hangover shit you haven't felt since you were in grade school, and you know it's your own damn fault. You had a bad feeling about that van the moment you opened the driver's side door, but in spite of your gut feeling, you continued to do your job. It was almost as if you didn't want any of your brothers to find failure in anything you did. You were, after all, the odd one out. The Scot. The IRA reject. The pushover.

Your eyes adjust and you can finally see a face in the room, just one face. The expression belongs to a woman, one you've never seen before. She's in a nurse's scrubs, so she must be your attending. You can make out her features and suddenly you're on your knees at God's feet thanking him for the gift of sight. This woman is _lovely_.

With chestnut and auburn-colored hair wound in a series of natural curls and waves, you can see the Irish blood swimming beneath her skin. She's got freckles peppering across her arms but none to see immediately on her face. Her eyes are wide and are a shade of hazel you swear belonged to an angel before they gifted this nurse with them. Long eyelashes shade over her eyelids and you know that she's reading about your medical history by the change in her eyes over the clipboard she has in her hands. She is slightly taller than average, but you like that. Broad shoulders are hiding underneath her scrubs and you just know that there is a lovely body beneath that material.

_Shite, man. Quit thinkin' about her tits and ask her a goddamn question_.

"How'm I lookin', miss?" you ask, chiding yourself because you know you sound groggy as all hell.

She smiles over at you, and you can feel the warmth of her genuine attitude. "You look really well for a man who has survived a car explosion _and_ a head injury," she answers, the sweetness of her voice surprising you with a tender British accent that makes you want to know her all the more. "You're doing much better today. Can you see alright out of both eyes?"

You nod. "I can see you just fine, if that's what you mean."

She chuckles, and you feel your skin sing. "That is part of it, of course. Are other parts of the room visible? Anything blurry?"

You shake your head. "Nothing is blurry."

She nods, her expression conveying that she is impressed. "That's definitely a good sign, Mr. Telford."

"Nah. It's Chibs."

"Done, Chibs."

You grin a bit and shift in your bed, your eyes watching as she puts your clipboard back onto the slot at the end of the bed. "You're from the UK, yeah?"

She nods, a kind of fond but sad smile stretching her lips. "Aye. Hampshire, actually."

"Brit."

"Indeed."

"How'd ye get here?"

"I could ask you the same question."

_Touche. This woman's smart._ "True. You'll be around, yeah?"

She seems to understand what your meaning is. "I'm not exactly your assigned nurse. I'm just the surgical tech who was present during your procedure."

You are disappointed to hear this. You want this nurse around every time you open your eyes. You silently vow to yourself to do what you can to keep her around in spite of her not being your assigned nurse. If you have anything to do with it, she _will_ be assigned to you.

"You are doing well. Keep it up." She taps your leg lightly, a few of the waves you find attractive bouncing around the line of her face as she does so. "I'll see you around...Chibs." She gives you a smile and she starts out the door before you realize something.

"You got a name, miss?" you ask, a kind of cocky tone to your voice.

She doesn't turn back around to look at you. "Yes." With that, she disappears out the door and you're left in the silence of her departure, wondering who the hell this woman is and how you'll get to see her again.

**::::**

_How dare she come here! Why the hell did she deem this okay?! _

Fiona's presence has you rattled. Old feelings come back ever so slightly, but you would never go down that road again. That ship sailed the moment that Jimmy O took her and your daughter from you. In stealing your family, he stole your affection for your wife. Still, she is lovely and you have no doubt that Kerrianne is the same, but your love for her is gone and you don't want it back.

Her very presence is a threat to you and to the Club itself. You know this. You can't let her around you - not again.

When Tara comes in to check on you, you are more than grateful for her assignment to you.

"You're looking great - vitals are good, pressure on the brain is significantly lower," she comments, flipping over your clipboard.

"Got a question for ye," you manage, knowing that she will continue with her vocal treatment when you really need to get to the gritty part of what you require to heal fully.

"Sure," she says, sitting down on the bed beside your legs.

"The nurse who was here before - ginger Brit - why isn't she checkin' on me?"

Tara shrugs. "She's a surgical technician, not really a daily RN. She's an RN, sure, but she was reassigned to another patient after their surgery finished."

"I want her reassigned to me."

Tara seems confused. "The other nurses are more than capable of looking after you."

"It ain't about capability."

"Then what is it?"

"Trust." Again, she appears lost, so you enlighten her. "Fiona, my ex-wife was here, and then she wasn't. Ginger-Brit was still my nurse when Fiona stopped visitin', so I know she's the only who kept my ex away."

"You want a specific nurse around to ease your conscience and keep you from having to see your ex-wife?"

You nod slightly, knowing that that was the gist of it, but you can't quite claim that there are other things at play here. Not to Tara. She wouldn't understand.

"What's going on, Chibs? Why do you want Bea around?"

_Bea. Her name is Bea. The ginger-Brit has a name, and that name is Bea. What a gorgeous name_.

You keep your swimming thoughts about the name-drop of that lovely lady to yourself. The way you see it, it's none of Tara's business. It's none of _anyone's_ business.

"Whatever you can do, Doc, please do," is all that you request of her and, as she leaves your room, you shut your eyes and know that she has given you her word in her silence.


	2. Bea I

When Dr. Knowles tells you that the Scottish patient you had been reassigned from might be interested in you, you are admittedly shocked. He was an attractive man for sure - you were the first to admit that. Now he was asking for your reassignment to return to his care, and you wanted to, of course. Something about being in his presence was more than enough to make you want to go back, and after your near beat-down with a woman you assumed was his ex-wife, you're more certain than ever that caring for this man is where you are supposed to be.

That Fiona woman was a real piece of work. She had a fiery look in her eyes when you instructed her to leave, almost like she was internally threatening you with your own life. She didn't scare you - you had received that look from your mother a million times over and at least a hundred times worse. Irish-borne threats never bothered you, not even as a tyke. Now, as a grown woman, they were just snide comments from a person hell-bent on making you lose your shit. Little did that woman know but you are not easily shaken by idle threats and comments made in passing.

The doctor you answer to is more than happy to reassign you to Chibs. He can see that the patient is taken with you, but he also understands that there is far more to it than that. There is a level of trust he hasn't seen by way of a patient and their nurse. It's almost as if he admires that kind of foundation. Hell, so do you.

Your times with Chibs are silent at first, given the heavy level of medications running through his system and that fact that he is almost more wired than the desktop computer back in your apartment. You admire his stoicism around others and the fact that he enjoys talking to you. Your chats are simplistic, covering more about the reasons behind your favorite color than about your past. That isn't quite the most important thing at the moment. His involvement with SAMCRO is more than enough to make you think twice about even talking to this man, let alone be considering him in more ways than one.

Your father's previous involvement with the Sons has your head reeling with its own kinds of questions, some that state that perhaps you are not supposed to get into the same situation that your mother found herself in all those years ago and became the reasons for her desire to get out. Perhaps you're simply overreacting - you have been known to do that. Still, maybe there is more truth than condemnation in what you have the cajones to contemplate.

When Chibs is discharged a few days later, you understand why, though it still kind of saddens you. You have grown accustomed to hearing his thick, Scottish banter, and to his very presence. He has become more than just a comfort to you - he has become a friend, a comrade, an ally, and perhaps more.

You check your charts for the day - two surgeries on your list. You're not surprised to say the least, but you definitely had expected more for your agenda. You're not complaining, given that you are allowed to go home once your jobs for the day have been completed. It's a gig you've become thankful to have.

The first surgery of the day goes well, practically textbook. Scrubbing out as always, you are never more in love with being clean. You head out to the front desk to complete some paperwork on the procedures and on your sign-off, and that's when a nurse approaches you, telling you that someone is there to see you. This comes as a shock - you don't really have friends outside of work, and even there your allies are few and far between. You check it out, deciding that there is little harm that a guest could do to you.

Tossing your hat and gloves into a rubbish bin, you make your way to the waiting room. Upon seeing the guest of mention, your heart nearly stops, but you count that as a good sign. The guest is Chibs.

Standing there, it's clear that he hasn't been kept waiting too long. Judging by the bouquet of daisies in his hand, you know that this is anything but a business call.

"It's only been a few days," you comment, crossing your arms over your chest. "Are you itching to get back in here that badly?"

He chuckles and approaches you, a sweet kind of grin creasing the scars on his cheeks. "I brought these for ye."

"I can see that." You take the bouquet and give them a whiff. "You remembered that I love daisies."

"Well, sunflowers aren't in season at the moment, so I hope these'll do."

"They're beautiful." You can feel the silence between you and know that there is so much more that he has to say. "I'm guessing that you didn't come by here to give me daisies."

"Well, that's part of it." He takes a deep breath before continuing. "You took amazing care of me in here - between keepin' my ex-wife at-bay and lookin' after my sick arse, I'd say that I owe you one."

You smile, the flattering offer enough to make you blush. You aren't used to getting this kind of attention, but you definitely like it. "I'm a nurse - I'm just doing my job." It hurts you to keep some of the truth from him, but it has to be done.

He sighs a bit and takes another step closer and that's when you can feel that your palms are starting to sweat. "Listen...I know that you were doin' yer job as my nurse and that I was just yer patient, but honestly...I feel like there was somethin' between us, somethin' that ain't under nurse and patient confidentiality." You laugh slightly at his turn of phrase, but you sigh nonetheless and take a hold of his arm, tugging him aside until you are both in a corner where no other personnel can overhear you.

"You're..." you begin, but stop short, your throat ceasing your tones as a bashful precaution. "...you're not wrong." He appears to look triumphant, almost smarmy about his correction. "I _did_ feel something, but...but it's unprofessional. If I was to get involved with a patient, I could potentially lose my license."

He nods, hearing your words and remaining silent for a moment before speaking again. "I'm not in the hospital anymore. You're not my nurse. It's not unprofessional, not anymore."

You smirk, finding the catch in what he is saying as he is absolutely correct. With him out from under your jurisdiction, you know he's right. "What kind of payback did you have in mind?"

He grins, and it's all you can do to keep from melting. "Dinner and drinks after at the clubhouse. Whaddya say?"

You smile at him genuinely, and he does in return, the pair of you knowing fully-well that this is happening, that the two of you are going to go on a date and, from there, who knows?


	3. Chibs II

_Breathe, you fuckin' coward. Y'ain't been on a date in years - so fuckin' what? This girl - no, she's a woman, actually wants to go out with ye. Man up and straighten up! It's time_.

Your head reels with the short string of one-night stands you've carried out between losing Fiona and gaining an interest in Bea. A few flings have left you empty and the lonely nights have left you dry. This woman - this _gorgeous_ woman, your subconscious adds - is genuinely interested in you, but all your mind can think about is how to not fuck it all up in one night.

She deserves respect - you know that. She's an honorable woman and, according to Piney, she can definitely be trusted around the club. Still, you can't help but panic that a pretty woman wants to be with you for once instead of the other way around and, this time unlike the others, she is actually interested in seeing there this could lead. This makes you happy, but it is also cause for you to panic.

You suddenly feel the urge to cancel, to call her and see about taking a rain check on your date, but something stops you. Your sex drive? Probably not. It's probably more of your need for companionship than anything. Plus, you really want to see her again. Soon, you are on your way to her, and that's enough.

You park your bike at the curb outside of her apartment, which you now realize is a townhouse of sorts. It's quaint, cute, and brick-founded. Perhaps she chose this place because it so effortlessly mirrored herself.

Whatever her reason was for having a place like this, you head up to the front door and rap your knuckles against the wood.

"Coming!" she shouts from within and you smirk, thankful you hadn't canceled.

A few moments later, the door unlatches and opens, revealing Bea in a lovely, sunshine-colored dress with lace embellishments and your stomach leaps into your throat at the sight of her.

"Is this a bit much, do you think?" she inquires of you, and you take a heavy pause to answer her.

"No!" you blurt out, shaking your head. "You look _gorgeous_."

You can see through the dark that she is blushing at your compliment. "Well, you spruce up nicely yourself," she comments, gesturing to your 'normal' clothing, sans cut. It takes a lot of willpower for you to refrain from blushing. It's been so long since the last time that a beautiful woman has complimented you so earnestly, and you find that you could definitely get used to this.

You gesture to her hair, done in loose waves that gracefully curtain her shoulders. "Yer hair is done...maybe we shouldn't take my bike since a helmet could ruin it. We could take your car, if you want."

Bea gives you a light-hearted chuckle, and you feel your throat close. "I would actually like to take your bike."

"But yer hair is lovely...I don't wanna ruin it."

"It won't - I'd _like_ to do it. I haven't ridden a bike since my father died."

How could you say no to that? Her request was your command and you refuse to start the night with a refusal to adhere to the foundation of chivalry you had always thought yourself privvy to.

**::::**

She was right. The ride to the restaurant had not ruined her hair in the slightest. As you pour over the menu in front of you, eyes occasionally glancing upward to get a look at her own similar expression, you can still feel the sensation of where her hands had gripped your waist on the ride. She had been nervous, to be sure, and you knew it. Even so, she was fearless in riding your bike behind you with styled hair and a nice dress. You can sense that she's got an inner bad-ass and you want to meet that side.

You order the house lasagna and you smile when she orders the baked ziti. When you ask the waiter about beverage specials on the alcohol side of liquidation, she says that she doesn't drink wine, and that she's more into hard liquor - whiskey being her favorite, particularly Jameson, as well as moonshine and strawberry champagne. For some reason, your brain screams that you love her, but you're glad to keep this to yourself.

Handing the menus off to the waiter, you settle into your seat and catch her gaze. "So, Bea," you say, allowing her name to roll ooff the tip of your tongue slowly, and she chuckles, "yer father was a Son?" She nods, so you can tell that it's safe to continue asking questions. "When did he die?"

Bea takes a deep breath, and you can tell that she's crossing her legs underneath the table. "He was killed on a run. I was five." You begin to say something, but you stop short, the knowledge that no words could convey the sympathy you feel for her loss. "Anyway, my Mum always knew that would happen at some point in time. Every day when my dad drove off for TM, she would look me in the face, shake her head and say, 'It'll happen.'"

"That's fucked up," you comment, taking a large swig of your water.

She nods in agreement. "Yes, it is. My turn." She pauses. You can hear the wheels cycling inside of her mind, the question drumming up rather quickly. "The woman from the hospital - the pretty, dark-skinned one - " You know that she means Fiona, and you're thankful Bea is asking you about her now. " - Tara told me that she's your ex-wife. What happened there?" She shakes her head quickly after finishing her sentence. "You don't have to tell me anything. Forget I asked."

You're quick to put a hand up to stop her thought train from derailing. "Hey, no. Y'asked, and it's fine. I'll answer." You clear your throat, the timing of the waiter bringing you a beer happening now, at the best moment possible. "She and my daugh'er were taken from me. A man in the IRA named Jimmy O'Phelan took her and ousted me from Ireland."

"Jesus..."

"It's alright. I've had years to get through it."

She shakes her head and you don't regret telling her, though a part of the truth has been omitted for now. "I'm so sorry about all of that." She takes a hefty pause before continuing. "Your turn."

"Yer dad was killed - what happened to yer Mum?"

"She and my brother moved back to Hampshire with my Grandmum, and I didn't want to go back. My Mum sent me to a boarding school where I stayed until college."

"Sounds like the life."

Bea grins. "Oh, you know it. My only problem? The dorms weren't co-ed." You laugh aloud, her joke having caught you by surprise. "What about you? College?"

You shake your head. "Technical school for mechanics' work and then a couple of classes on body detail."

She shifts, uncrossing her legs and sitting up straighter than she had been sitting before. "Your bike - is that all inclusive?"

"It's all my handiwork, yes."

"So you're good with a wrench. I'll keep that in mind." She tips her chin up at you, a gesture that the turn has now passed to you.

"If ya could travel anywhere in the world, where would it be?"

The questions between you continue for a while before the food arrives, and you make certain to cover all of the basics. Through this time, you learn that her favorite color is yellow, her favorite flowers are daisies and sunflowers, her favorite food is chicken teryaki, her favorite cuisine is Italian, and that her favorite season is winter. She likes the cold climate, and you like _her_.

The food is delicious, you decide part-way through your meal, and that's when you notice that Bea has grown silent all of a sudden. She has a straight kind of expression on her face, a look that worries you because you can only think of one thing whenever you see an expression like that: failure. This is one time where you kick yourself in the proverbial teeth and not allow yourself to fail. Not here. Not with Bea.

"What's on yer mind, pretty girl?" you croon, reminding yourself to chew with your mouth closed.

Bea puts down her utensils and wipes her mouth with the cloth napkin that had been precariously perched across her lap. "Why are you not asking me more about my father? You _must_ want to know."

You shrug your shoulders, knowing the exact reason why. "I didn't want to be disrespectful." She is all ears, and the look on her face has shifted - it now bears shock. Clearly she hadn't expected for you to say that. "I never met your father. I just knew that he was in good with John Teller, so I wanted to know how he passed."

She appears to accept this answer and you're relieved. "I will answer whatever questions you ask me."

Hearing her British accent spill coolly into the words loosening her tongue was enough to make you shiver, and you do, quickly clearing your throat as you dissolve the sensation into the consumption of another bite of noodles and ricotta cheese. "Bea, I respect _you_, too. I won't pressure you into anythin' and...you should know that there isn't an end-game here. I wanna get to know _you_, not your father. If you don't want to answer me whenever I question ya, don't feel like ya have to."

Bea gives you a look, another one for the shivers, but this time, it's different. This look has the appeal you want from her, the approval of your presence and your words. You smile at her and when she returns the expression, you just know that this is going better than you'd planned. Hell, an hour ago, you'd considered bailing. _Shit, I'm glad I didn't._

**::::**

The ride to the clubhouse from the restaurant is different than the one before. This time, she has her arms circled all the way around your torso, and you can feel her squeezing you through your clothes. This grip is almost possessive, very similar to the one you have the handlebars in at-present. You like that she has this side to her, the one that is becoming more open, more willing to let go, and a loosening of her muscles. She _trusts_ you.

Once again, her hair makes it out of the helmet unscathed, and you're impressed. You joke to yourself that perhaps she could teach a thing or two to Bobby about her secrets. You open the door for her and follow her into the clubhouse, your respectful move going over well with her.

Only a few people are in the main area of the bar and couches, and you're suddenly made of nerves. What if they all hate her? What if they disapprove of her or if she disapproves of them? What then?

You bite the inside of your lip a little too hard, tasting copper as you lessen the grip just a bit.

Bobby is at the bar talking with Tig, Piney is behind the counter with Half-Sack, and Opie is perched at a table nearby, enjoying deep drags from a cigarette that is shortening all too quickly.

All testosterone-fueled eyes in the building fall on her and Half-Sack nearly drops his jaw to the counter before Piney slaps him on the back to bring him to life again.

"Brothers," you greet them, not parting from your date's side as you show off your sunshine-colored arm candy, "this is Bea Tomlinson."

"Hel_lo_, Bea," Bobby says with a grin, drawing out his greeting in an almost suggestive manner. You want to punch him for that move, but when Bea laughs it off, you're at ease once more.

"Enchantee, madamoiselle," Tig greets, taking her hand and bowing at the waist.

"Moi aussi, monsieur," she retorts back to him in solid French. "Oui?"

"Don't mind if I do," Tig says, quickly departing from the area.

You roll your eyes, figuring that Tig would be...well, himself. You just hoped that the Winston men would be normal and that Half-Sack wasn't sporting a woody from behind the counter. To be honest though, it seemed like all male genitalia in the room stood at-attention when Bea entered. Whose _wouldn't_?

"You don't remember me, do you?" Piney asks gruffly, outstretching his hand to shake hers.

You watch Bea's eyes narrow in sight of the old man for a moment before a look of realization crosses her face. "You're Piney, aren't you?" she returns with a smile, and the old man is content.

"Glad to see your memory holds out. This is Half-Sack, and once he picks his jaw up off the goddamn floor, maybe he'll greet you properly." Half-Sack smiles weakly, turning away from Bea's ever-grinning eyes.

"BB-gun," Opie says, rising from his seat. "It's been too damn long."

"Opie," Bea says, a fondness washing over her persona. "How could I forget a baby-face like yours?" She stretches up to give him a proper hug when he approaches her, and you're shocked - she remembered Piney, but she knows Opie, too?

"You two know each other?" you ask her, and she releases the much taller man, nodding in your direction.

"Yes. Opie and I used to play together all the time as kids, but we were really small back then." She turns back to Opie. "Is Jax in the club, too?"

Opie nods. "VP."

"No shit."

"Drinks, anyone?" Half-Sack offers, and Bea turns to you, a geniune look on her face as she takes your arm and pulls you to the bar, perching herself onto a stool. "What for you, m-m-ma'am?"

"Whiskey neat, please," she requests, and you feel the third round of shivers nearly overcome you.

"Ya really weren't jokin' abou' yer drink choice," you comment, leaning your elbows onto the countertop and glancing over at her in all of her canary glow.

"I don't joke about alcohol, Filip," she responds, nudging into your arm with her own and giving you a smirk that could've made Fiona run for cover.

"I'll keep tha' in mind," you say, tossing her own phrase from earlier back to her.

**::::**

The agonizing reappearance of her front entryway is almost enough to make you literally heave. You don't want this night to end, and you _definitely_ don't want to leave her, but she's a professional woman and you're tied to the club. Day-time is going to approach whether you want it to or not.

You walk her to her door and there's a silence between you. Neither of you knows what to say to give this long-awaited date a proper send-off.

When you both reach the door, you stop, and she turns around to face you, her bottom lip sunken under her top one, and suddenly you're urging to lean in and loosen that lip-nip with your own mouth. But you don't. You stay your hand, constantly repeating _all in good time, all in good time_.

"Are you going to ask me to come in?" she asks, her tone slow and knowing. It's as if she _wants_ you to come in, and goddamn it, you _do_. But you shake your head.

"Not tonight. Don't wanna ruin how good this was, y'know?" She nods in response before making her move, shifting forward a bit. You want to kiss her so badly, her perfectly plump lips having been calling out for you all night, but you grip her hand tightly and raise it between you as a barrier of respect. She appears shocked, but you know that, in the long-run, she will appreciate this.

You run your thumb across her knuckles, bent over your calloused fingers and pressing into your sensitive palm. Your eyes meet hers and lock onto the sight, raising her hand ever so much more to bring her knuckles completely, softly, to your lips.

You relax the muscles in your mouth, allowing your lips to properly contour over her fleshy joints before you give her a wink and a smile. Backing away, you don't release her hand until just before your arms are both stretched to capacity.

You long to run back to her, to finish what was begun, but not now. Not like this.

You've got _plenty_ of time for that.


	4. Bea II

Your hands are trembling, fingers shaking with the tumult of thoughts running through your mind. That date meant everything to you, and though it was only two days ago, you're still feeling its after-effects even as you stand in the operating room, the latex covering on your hands stained with the blood of the patient lying cut open on the table in front of you.

This was a terrible time for shaky digits, but there wasn't much to be done about it except to pass it off as nerves. The surgeon asks you if you're feeling alright, and you nod and tell him that everything's just fine. You chalk it up to blood sugar and soon the other nurses are all chatting with each other about some past patient who had gone into hypoglycemic shock while under the knife some years ago. You're thankful that your head is elsewhere.

After you scrub out, it becomes clear to you that it is well past ten o-clock. At that point, it had been two whole days since your date with Chibs and no word. It is upsetting, but you just assume that it is a sign that he has been busy with the MC. Given your father's history with the Sons, you're not surprised in the least. You _are_ surprised, however, when you arrive home to find an envelope with your name on it sitting on your front stoop.

A few chunks of your hair slip out of your tousled ponytail as you bend at the waist, taking a hold of the envelope and opening it before you head inside. The handwriting is chicken-scratch, but you don't mind. You're used to reading the chart notes of less-than-legible doctors, so even these marks are better than what you're used to.

It's from Chibs. You know that. It's a request for you to meet him at the clubhouse, and there's a post-script underneath it. You are a bit bothered by the fact that he has also requested for you to "come as you are," and you know he's aware of your less-than-lax work schedule. _Less than_. _Always less than something. Maybe it's time to have something greater_.

You drive to TM, all the while grumbling under your breath about how imperfect you look. With dirty scrubs ridden with the stains of twelve surgeries and off-white Keds that have seen better days, you resolve to stop berrating yourself and to let things be. You hope that Chibs won't mind your appearance, God forbid if other club members spotted you in your unkempt get-up.

You park your car near the garage, noting a few new faces pulling the doors to the shop down with grease-laden hands. You realize that not too long ago, your hands were covered in blood which, honestly, was kind of contrary to the sight before you.

Locking your car, you hear the horn beep to let you know that the lock mechanism has, in fact, done its job. Your keys go into your purse as air fills your lungs with the deep breath you need to sustain your heart rate as it attempts to leap through the roof. _Show time_.

You head inside the clubhouse, your ears ringing with the muffled sounds of heavy rock music. Your nostrils flare, allowing the scent of stale cigarettes, leather, and engine oil to stimulate the senses and remind you of where you are.

You instantaneously feel that all eyes are on you, and you can feel a lump forming in your throat. You know that this night will be different from the rest, though, at the moment, you can't quite tell why. The instant you see Chibs you relax, but the smirk on his face confesses that he has something up his sleeve.

"I've go' a surprise for ye," he croons and your heart melts.

"More of a surprise than asking me to meet you here after work?" you retort, your own brand of smirk criss-crossing your lips and causing his to disappear.

"Sorry 'bout that. Ye don't have to stick around. We can reschedule - "

"No," you practically blurt out, your cheeks reddening. "It's fine - I was already dressed...though I kind of wish I could've showered and changed - "

"Nonsense. You're beautiful." He clears his throat as the blurt game continues. "Anyway, to the surprise. I'm gonna have the guys work on yer car, get it all fixed up and make sure it's safe to drive."

You are taken aback. The kindness, the thoughtfulness and the protective side that he is showing is enough to make you feel like crying. You stumble over your own thoughts and can't even manage anything other than "Chibs..."

"It won't cost ye a single penny. All I ask is for another date - that's it."

"Just one more date? That's _it_?" you state immediately and he smiles. "But...when I need to work, how will I get there?"

"Gimme yer schedule. I'll get ye there myself."

"And what about that date? Is this it?"

"Kinda sor'a." A heavy pause fills the silence. "It's gonna be different. My club means _everything_ to me, so it would mean a lo' if you could sit down with some of the guys and talk to them. If they love ye, then we're good. I just want them to know I've snatched qui'e the catch." When he winks at you, you straighten your spine and avert your gaze momentarily.

"So, basically you want me to speed-date the MC?"

Chibs chuckles and you lose yourself in the glare of his white teeth. "Only if y'aren't too embarrassed to do that."

You feel fearless and you nod, accepting the challenge. Not only had you left work not expecting to have a date, you _definitely_ didn't expect to have to go through _multiple_ dates.

**::::**

The first date on your agenda is with Bobby. You find him to be a rather burly man, though you don't complain. He seems very genuine and he has a certain look in his eyes, one that reminds you of your father, and not at all in a negative light. He grilled you on your father, making certain he mentioned that he hadn't known him personally. You appreciate his honesty, though you're not surprised. There were really only a few members of the MC that your father actually trusted enough to call friends.

The second date is with Clay. Clay is a frightening man and something about him sets your teeth on-edge, but you refrain from showing it. You just want to be honest and show them the real you, the one who is truly interested in being with Chibs. Clay asks the basics on your background.

Next up is Tig. He questions your sexual preferences, really getting down into the nitty-gritty truth about your sexuality. You are open and honest, telling him that you're straight-forward about sex and that you're not what he would call "adventurous" in the application of it. He seems to be impressed, though shocked that someone as eligible and comfortable as you doesn't have a kink or two. You tell him, truly, that you don't.

When Juice approaches you for his turn, you almost feel burnt-out of all the questions being put to you. This Puerto-Rican man is sweet, however, and treats you like a lady, almost like he hasn't been on a proper date in years and, you suspect, he hasn't. He asks you about your hopes, your dreams, your aspirations. It nearly brings tears to your eyes at the drastic shift in questions, but you answer them all truthfully and know that, eventually, your answers will make their rounds back to Chibs. You don't mind. That kind of thing comes with MC territory.

Your final date is with Opie, and that makes you smile. Opie is someone you can definitely remember from your younger years. The pair of you were quite close once upon a time, mostly because your fathers were close. You wait for him at your two-person table, the other members whispering to each other in the corner by the pool table. Your foot taps an unprecedented rhythm against the cement floor, a symbol of nervous impatience.

Finally, Opie is there, though something in his eyes is a bit darker than when you last saw him. Of course, years and hardship will do that to a person, as you know all too well.

He shakes his head. "So, they just let you in here, huh?" he asks, and you're familiar with this game.

"I know when I'm not wanted," you retort, rising from your chair and straightening your top. Eyes bore into the other set for a few, silently agonizing moments, but then you both crack and smile. The smiles exchanged turn into physical hugs.

"It's been years, BB!" he exclaims, his large arms easily encircling you as you return the laughter.

"Not anymore, _Harry_," you say and he pushes you away to an arm's length.

"No. It's _Opie_ now."

"You took your Daddy's nickname for you?"

"Most MC members have nicknames - I thought it'd be nice to use one that I'm already familiar with, you know?"

"I _do_ know. My dad's was 'Whitey,' remember? Referencing how he always had white hair?"

Opie chuckles widely enough for you to see that he has shiny caps on a few of his teeth. You don't mind - they suit him quite well. "I remember." He gestures for you to take your seat again and you oblige him. "So, you've already been railed by the other shitheads, yeah?"

"I have. They were quite respectful though."

"Nah. I know you too well to be respectful of comfortability - you know that."

_I know that_. "What are you going to focus on? My wishes? Favorites? Dislikes? Sexual position preferences? Why my favorite food is my favorite?"

Opie shakes his head, eyes conveying a different look than the sheen they had possessed a few moments ago. "Truth, plain and simple. I'll ask you questions that want mostly 'yes' or 'no' answers, but if I feel like I want you to elaborate, I'll say so. Deal?"

You ponder this for a moment, having had a feeling prior to this moment that his 'date' would be a far-cry from the others. Of course, there is a history between you from years ago, so to say that you are blind-sided by all of this is a bold-faced lie, and you're not about to start lying. You've done well so far.

"Deal," you agree, taking a deep breath as you prepare yourself for the coming interrogation.

"College?"

"Yes."

"Did you graduate?"

"Yes."

"What did you study?"

"Surgical nursing, ultrasound science, and forensics."

"Double major?"

"No, just concentrations."

"Nice. Where's your mother?"

"Back in Hampshire."

"Because of what happened to your dad?"

"Yes and no."

"Go on."

"She wanted to spend time with her mother, my grandmother. She has some kind of inoperable cancer."

"I'm sorry."

"We'll all be dead someday, Opie."

"True. You're not gonna stay a nurse forever, are you?"

"What?"

"I can see it in your eyes. When you talk about it, you look like you're tired of it."

_Shit. I wasn't planning on saying anything until it was certain..._ "I don't _want_ to be a nurse forever, no."

"What'll you do?"

"I'm actually starting my own business."

"What kind of - "

"It's a crime scene clean-up service."

Now he was all ears. His brow rose in surprise. "Really? You can handle that shit?"

"Given that it'd be 'crime scene' work, I'd say shit will be the _least_ of my problems."

He smirks and takes a slight pause, this time averting your gaze. "You've been married, haven't you?"

Your heart drops and your eyelids flutter. "Excuse me?"

"You know what I mean. Why do you hide that you were married once? It's written all over your face."

You straighten your spine in an attempt to look more in-control of yourself at the moment than you really are. His question cut you to the quick - how in the living hell did he know?

You breathe for a moment, pausing as your gaze drops to your hands, wringing them together under the table. "...yes," you finally manage. "I _was_ married once...but it didn't last."

"Tell me what happened."

Your eyes meet his with a newfound strength. It's been too long since it happened - you are more than capable of talking about it now. "We met as undergrads. His name was Josh. He was pre-med on the pharmacist track and we had mutual friends. We hung out with our friends and got to know each other through them. Eventually, those hang-outs became just the two of us. We started seeing each other. It was serious from the start of everything. At the end of our freshman year, he proposed to me - we had been dating for six months. We married just after the end of our sophomore year."

"I'm guessing that's when it got shitty."

"Shitty as a sewage pipe." You could practically feel your expression fall. "I had a false-positive pregnancy test halfway through our senior year. I was devastated...he was ecstatic. I told him that I still wanted children, and he said that he thought I would change my mind about that, that he still didn't. Going into the marriage, he _knew_ I wanted to have kids, and I knew he didn't."

"So you divorced."

You knew that wasn't a question. Opie was stating a fact, and he was correct. "Yes." That's when a single tear slipped from your eye. "What could I do? Something so fundamental could not be so corrupted - not to me. Not in a _marriage_, for fuck's sake."

Opie grins at your curse word and nods. "I don't blame you for what you did. Just stop hiding it. Hiding it is a lie to yourself. It _happened_, Bea."

In that moment, you would never forget how he looked as he said those words to you. All you wanted to do was to go home and cry yourself to sleep, but the way his face looked...well, you couldn't put a finger on it, but you knew for a fact that Harry Winston had just stopped a bout of depression from sinking your battleship for good.

That was it. That was the end of your speed-dates. The MC members conversed in the chapel room, pulling Chibs into it to undoubtedly give him their results. Your nerves are more on-end than ever before, but it's almost the anticipation that has you reeling.

"Want a smoke?" a gruff, feminine voice asks from nearby. You turn and see that it's John Teller's widow, Gemma. Clay's old lady. Jax's mother. Queen of SAMCRO. Any way you spin her, Gemma Teller-Morrow is one solid woman and you're more in awe of her than intimidated by her. "You seem nervous 'bout somethin'."

"I am, and yeah, I'd like one," you admit, taking the cigarette from her freshly-manicured hands and leaning in to light the end from her offered lighter. "Thanks." You inhale a drag deeply.

"What's goin' on in there? That about you?"

You nod. "Yeah. I just speed-dated most of the MC." You snicker. "I wasn't exactly expecting that."

Gemma glances over your worn scrubs and unkempt face. "I can see that." She takes a whiff of her own cigarette before making the connection. "You're, uh, you're that nurse, the one that Chibs is seein', right?"

You shrug your shoulders. "In the flesh, as it were."

"You're a helluva lot sexier than I'd imagined you'd be."

You half-choke on the smoke you'd just inhaled and laugh a bit. "That's either a dig at me or it's a dig at Chibs. Either way, I guess I should be grateful that you just called me 'sexy' when I look like this."

Gemma smirks. "It ain't a dig at him, and it definitely ain't a dig at you, sweetheart. It's the truth. You're not exactly the type of woman that shows up here infatuated with one of the club members."

"Funny. You don't seem like the type of woman to be here, either."

She shakes her head, smoke funneling out of her nostrils. "Don't assume you know what it is to be me."

_Fair enough_. You finish your cig and blot it out inside of the ash tray on the countertop beside you. Eyes meet with Chibs' as he departs the chapel room and makes his way over to you.

"So what - now you're gonna sweep him off his feet and 'nurse' him back to normality?"

You turn back just enough to make eye contact with her. "Don't assume you know what it is to be me."

She chuckles and you turn your back, proud of what you had just grown the balls to say.

**::::**

Chibs takes you home on the back of his bike, the ride through the darkness enough of a comfort to let you know that he is clearly not breaking up with you. It must've gone well, you assume, as he pulls into the now-empty parking spot and walks you up to your apartment door.

"I'm your ride until your car's done."

"I appreciate it," you say, your back to the door and your eyes locked on his. You bite your lip and, for a moment, all the pair of you do is stare at the other, eyes conveying the need that you feel within. "Listen...I _know_ it's probably soon for a question like this, but...I'd like it if you go in with me."

His expression brightens and he nods. "Abso_lute_ly," he says, putting emphasis on the middle part of that word. His answer is a comfort to you and you allow him into your home.

You place your keys into the bowl by the door and set your purse aside, immediately heading for the couch to take a seat. As you are busy removing your Keds from your weary feet, you watch as he ponders your place with his eyes, fingers occasionally flittering over the pictures on your entertainment center. The one particular photo he seems riveted to is the one of you and Josh that you can't seem to get rid of.

"That's my ex-husband," you confess, your fingers squeezing the pressure points on your feet in an attempt to release the tension in them. "His name is Josh."

"Opie told me all abou' tha'," Chibs says, almost in a way that makes you clam up even though that wasn't hw he'd meant for it to come across. "He's a wanker, gettin' rid of you."

You smile at him and shrug. "It is what it is, I suppose."

In a few moments, Chibs is there at the couch and takes a seat opposite you. "You've been so open tonight - in Tig's case, a little _too_ open - so there's somethin' ya need to know abou' me."

And that's when he tells you everything. Fiona. Kerrianne. Jimmy O. The heartbreak. The loss. The fact that someone actually knows how it is to be divorced when you were supposed to have been so happy. It hurts to hear him talk about all of this, but the very strength and resilience of the man speaking to you, the man for whom you are developing very real feelings, is enough to reignite your hope. And that's when things take a turn.

Chibs begins to explain that Fiona knew what she was signing up for by marrying him and that's what being an old lady to an MC member truly means. He says that it means you are by their side and are supportive even when things turn to shit. He goes on about it, but that's when the real meaning behind his words strike you hard.

"Filip," you say and, having used his first name, it's enough to stop him almost mid-sentence, "are you asking me if I'll be your old lady?"

He pauses, a kind of sad desperation on his face, the kind that are pleading with you to be by his side. "Is that somethin' you'd actually want to be, or...?"

You smile at him, and notice that it catches him off-guard. "If your club is supportive..."

"They gave me a resounding _yes_. I though' they were all gonna jizz their pants when they talked abou' ye."

You share a laugh with him and nod, turning your body to face him a bit more. "If you _want_ for me to be your old lady - "

"Abso_lute_ly, I do."

You smile a bit wider and nod your head, watching as his entire face softens. "Then, absolutely, I will."

He smiles and the two of you remain in silence, both sets of gazes continually flickering up and down, unable to choose to focus on the eyes of the other or on the lips. Chibs' expression grows serious and he shifts his body a bit closer to yours, hearing how shallow and rapid his breathing has become in this moment.

Your expression conveys the green light you feel about his silent request to touch you. His rough hands settle shakily on your knees and you allow your own hands to perch on his thighs, though gently. Your heart races as he nears your face and one of his hands rises up to caress your face. It's almost like he is silently asking for permission to place his hand against your cheek, but you respond in silence by tilting your head slightly, enough to turn your skin against his palm.

You hear the breath in his throat halt him for a second or two and then he moves in closer, eighty-percent into a kiss though the other twenty-percent is on you to complete. You know that, but you're hesitating, not wanting this moment to fade away too quickly or be consumed with bodily desires. You're also relishing the fact that this gorgeous hunk of man wants to kiss you when you're feeling at your ugliest and most unworthy of a tender moment, let alone a sensual kiss.

His calloused palm shifts, changing its position from your cheek to your chin. His hand is in such a way that it's almost as if he is tilting your face upward and into his - your assumption is correct. That's _exactly_ what he's doing.

In a flash, his forehead is pressed to yours and your breath becomes his sustenance. With trembling lips, you close the gap between your faces, unable to wait any longer. Skin collides with skin and lips press against lips. For the moment, both of you remain still, and it's as if you're merely getting used to what is happening. When you pull back and see the delight on his face, you know it was worth it, and that's when you let yourself go.

Your hands fly up to his head and cradle his face, pulling him in to a more tender, more open kiss than you've shared with anyone. Even kisses with Josh couldn't compare to this. Chibs tasted like ginger and chlorine, a clean and spicy kind of taste and you were officially lost in him. Deep kissing turned into tongue-kisses and soon you found yourself giving in to this man. This Scot. This god.

Your old man.


	5. Chibs III

You and Bea. Bea and you. It has such a lovely ring to it that you can scarcely recall what life was like without her beautiful name and even more beautiful self attached to your side. The pair of you have become something of a more serious item over the past few weeks and you love it. The attention and the care that she gives to you and to your relationship is unmatched. The dedication you feel towards her is unprecedented but definitively outshines what you had once had with Fiona.

One of your long talks with Bea reveals to you that her work as an RN is quickly coming to a close so that she can be freed up to finally pursue her crime scene clean-up service. Personally, that idea has you by the britches and you instantaneously tell her that you are more than supportive of that idea.

"I'm ready to make money," she confesses to you once she is certain that you are behind her.

"Would this business be lucrative?" you question and she immediately nods.

"In Charming, I will make more than I need." She then pauses, taking a break from folding her t-shirts as her tone and expression convey a seriousness that she had not possessed before. "Actually, I...I want to begin putting money into savings for a real home."

You sense her tone and match it as you realize that she means that she wants to settle down, and with you at her side, you happily assume that she means that settling down would be with you.

"Do you want a family?" you ask and for a moment, she is silent.

A soft smile crosses her shapely lips as she nods her head. "I really, truly do."

Your turn to pause comes as you shift your body from where you'd been seated on the couch beside her. Your hands find hers and fold them gently, pulling them towards your chest and placing both hands against your body. "I lost my family a long time ago. I can never get tha' back. It's time I start fresh...and I want to start fresh with _you_, Bea."

Her eyes flicker and gloss over, her expression quivering with excitement and anticipation upon hearing that you, too, want this to happen.

"Wanting a family is a _good_ thing, Filip," she croons, leaning in to push her forehead to yours, and you're in heaven. She is simply intoxicating and you find yourself so in love with this goddess.

"I want _you_, Bea," you admit, your hand moving up to caress her milky skin. "And I want a family _with_ you."

She shrugs and chuckles and you can feel the heat of her tears that are slowly grazing down the fronts of her cheeks. "That's what old ladies are for."

"You know what _else_ old ladies are for, eh?"

You press your lips to her neck and she wraps her arms around your shoulders, pulling you into herself as she laughs heartily. The pair of you shift and you pull her body up to yours as you move to lay her back against the couch. You push her neat, freshly folded laundry onto the carpet, and she groans, but soon she is lost amid the shower of kisses you inflict upon her.

Her nimble fingers push your cut from off of your arms as you lift her scrubs over her head, breaking your meshing mouths for a mere second as the two of you shed all of the clothing material between your skin and hers. There are no barriers between you now and nothing stops you from pleasuring her all night long, and that's exactly what you do.


	6. Bea III

This is it - your last day at Saint Thomas'. You couldn't be more ecstatic to leave your RN work behind and actually do what you want to do. Your coworkers pretend that they are sad to see you go, and perhaps some of them truly are, but you know that they are more than likely thankful for your departure in employment because that will mean less foot-traffic from the club. You're secretly calling them all 'rotten bastards' inside of your own mind and you are happy to oblige.

Your director presents you with a bonus check as a measure of thanks for your service to Charming, and you know that the timing of such a gift could never be understated. You are in the midst of saving money for a home of your own, one that, you hope, you will be able to share with Chibs.

Speaking of your Scottish lord, he is promptly waiting for you in the employee lot when your shift ends and you practically skip your way across the blacktop to reach him. His grin is wide and his hands extend your helmet - he bought you one of your own for such an occasion as this - for you to wear.

"Is your order ready for pick-up?" he asks, watching as you place your helmet over your mussed ponytail.

You nod. "I called on my lunch break and they said that all of the cleaning supplies are waiting for me."

"I'm so proud o' you, babe." He leans in and kisses your forehead and you are in heaven. You smile up at him and swing your legs over the back of his bike seat, patting the front of it for him to take his seat.

"Let's go...old man," you tease and he smirks, clicking his tongue as he puts on his own helmet and gives you a look that says that he is more than happy to do as you ask.

Old ladies' orders mean business, and Chibs knows that better than anyone.

**::::**

The supply store has your order on-hold, but once you see how big the boxes and containers are, your eyes widen and you begin to panic slightly.

"Do you have a vehicle to carry this shit around in?" Chibs asks, and you shake your head.

"No, I don't. Just my own car, and that won't cut it. There is so much shit that I will have to drive around - how the hell could I have known?"

He sighs. "Babe, ye couldn'ta predicted how much was necessary for this new job, but yer doin' it. I support ye always. Y'know that."

You nod and give his hand a gentle squeeze. "I know. It's just hard when I have so many loose ends...now I still need a van. Jesus Christ."

Chibs chews on his bottom lip for a moment as he looks on in silence. After that moment passes, he gives you his full attention. "We need to getcha a van then." Your eyes flash up to meet his, the shock fully evident on your face. "Let's go and get a van."

"Filip, I - "

"No, no. You need one for work. How much've ya got saved up?" Now it's your turn to chew nervously on your bottom lip while leaving him to his own speculations. "You told me you were savin' up - "

"I _am_," you interrupt, apologizing under your breath. "I just didn't plan on having to purchase a van with the money I have - that's all."

"I wanna help ya."

"I know you do, but you can't this time."

"Why not?"

"You do enough for me."

"Bea..."

"Filip, I'm serious. You can't spend your money on this. I won't let you."

He nods, accepting your decision while you are reminded of why you love this beautiful, Scottish god. "At least let me drive ya to buy one."

That is definitely something you can agree to.

**::::**

The chicken marsala you have prepared for the two of you is perfect, and you couldn't be more pleased that he agreed to a dinner at your own treat. This was your small way of paying back what you feel you owe him.

He is there soon enough with flowers in a bundle. He says that he arranged them himself, and you can tell because they were done with love and tied with a lovely velveteen bow. While he locates a vase and fills it with water to dress it all up for you, you set the table and pour each of you a glass of strawberry-infused champagne.

The moments between you as you laugh and eat could never be undone, could never be overstated. These are the moments you dreamed of sharing with a lover from childhood onward, and now that you are living it, it all seems far too good to be actuality.

But it is. It's all real. It's all happening. Chibs is now your everything and you have no trouble admitting that to yourself and to him whenever he decides to ask you what you truly feel. Instead, he asks you something else.

"What's yer magic number?" he questions.

You chuckle, nearly choking on the half-swallowed bite of food you were in the process of downing. "What?"

"How many guys have ya been with?"

Your eyebrows raise and you shrug. "It's a relatively small number." His eyes plead for you to continue, so you do. "I was with my prom date after the dance that night. That was senior year of high school. After that, it just Josh and, now, you."

Chibs' face is impressed. "Three. That's all?" You nod and he shakes his head. "Yer an amazing woman." You smirk and are preparing to rebut that statement when he speaks quickly. "Move in with me."

Your mouth drops almost literally to your lap when he says what he says, and now your heart is fluttering. "Are you serious?"

He nods and reaches across the table, squeezing your hands with his own. "I want ya, Bea, and I want this. I want _us_. I want to be with you and have the lives we've wanted to live for so long. I _love_ you, Bea."

"And I love you, Filip." Your eyes well with tears, the sensation of happiness surging through your veins in a way you haven't felt since you fell in love with Josh. This, however, is a whole different thing on a new level you've not yet experienced, so you're grateful that the person you are to share all of this with is Chibs.

"Whaddya say?"

You smile at him as flashes of what could and will be fill the darkness behind every eye-shut, every blink. You nod fervently. "Of course I will. Of course."


	7. Chibs IV

The MC kindly offered to help the pair of you move in together, but you adamantly refused to allow them to do that. What you wanted was for the two of you to do this together, claiming for the record that it was all part of the process of a couple wishing to take the step that you two were, but that was something you left out of the information you gave them. For their sanity, you refrained. You knew that they just wanted to help, but this was between you and Bea.

Boxes were stacked seven feet high and took up most of the space in the front living room of your new abode. You were thankful that she had agreed to be with you in this way, especially since living out of the clubhouse just wasn't cutting it anymore. You wanted something real, something substantial, and the fact that you'd found that with Bea was more than enough to want to keep her around. You wanted this. You wanted this life. You wanted _her_.

As you are carrying another share of boxes into the front room for sorting purposes, you notice that she has begun unpacking, but not quite the items that you expected. She is busy arranging photo frames on the mantlepiece, careful in the placement of candle votives and the doilies she has been saving since childhood.

You smile, placing the boxes in your arms onto the wooden floor before wiping your hands of the debris found on your skin and the fact that you want to touch hers without tainting it.

"Why the pictures first?" you question, your hands slipping around her waist to pull her back into yourself.

She chuckles, placing one of her hands along yours. "I want something to feel like a home right now, you know?" she explains. "Photographs are the best way to do that."

You nod, resting your chin against her shoulder. "I get tha'." You press your lips to the side of her neck and she murmurs approval. "Y'know, the club is gonna go underground soon enough. A week, we're lookin' at." She turns around within your arms, her eyes meeting yours and her hands resting on your biceps. "Yer mah old ladeh. I wan' ya there. You'll be safe with me in there. With the Irish deals goin' down, I cannae le' ye stay here withou' me."

"I don't _want_ to be here without you," she says, allowing one of her hands to caress your cheek. You melt within her grasp and your eyes flutter closed. The bewitching hold she has on you is overwhelming and your entire body relaxes. "This is _our_ home, Filip. I'll be wherever you are."

"Protection and family. That's wha' you'll have there."

"That's what I have here, right now."

Your lips find hers before her tone is able to finish the last syllable. You adore her and the fact that she adores you is more than enough to keep you on your toes and remind you of why you've come out of the shell you'd once build. Real happiness is here with you, and its name is Bea.

**::::**

The lockdown is moved up by more than a week after some precarious situations force you to change plans. You assist Bea in packing up the necessities required for transferral to the clubhouse life. You don't leave her side by your own choice, staying with her because you fear for her safety before anyone else's. She knows that and she is clearly comforted by your presence.

Together you leave for the clubhouse, driving her in a TM vehicle to bring her there safely. As the bikes belonging to the MC are now targets, you know that a normal transportation unit is the safest way to move yourselves to the safehouse.

She is shaking from her place in the passenger seat, her knuckles white as she tugs on her own skin in an attempt to free herself from the nervous breakdown that her muscles are experiencing. You notice this, but you remain silent, knowing that sometimes she prefers the silence. Instead, you show your support in a different way by stepping outside of your own comfort zone and taking her hand into yours, squeezing tightly to let her know that you are, indeed, beside her in all things.

Her head turns and her eyes meet yours. Her chin quivers as she smiles at you and you return the expression, pushing your fingers through hers and locking them together.

The lot at TM is bustling with the arrival of the families and loved ones belonging to each and every brother and member of the MC. You help her into the room the two of you will be sharing for a bit of time, and even settle in with her. She is still nervous, you know, but being there with her is the first step to your own recovery.

Clay addresses everyone in the clubhouse that they are all family, and that SAMCRO takes care of their own. Bea is by your side and she seems somewhat comforted by the president's words, but there is still some uneasiness inside of her that you can't quite place.

When the pair of you are alone once again, you step close to her and take her hands into yours. "Everythin'll be alright, darlin'," you state in the most transparently comforting way for her nerves.

She nods, her expression remaining serious as the grip on your hands tightens from her end. "It had _better_ be," she reminds you, only half-jokingly.

**::::**

Kip is dead. Half-Sack. A brother. A member. Murdered in cold blood by a vengeful Irishman. This news is difficult to hear and even more difficult to process. You want to get revenge. You do. However, there are other matters to deal with. Abel, Jax's infant son, is missing by the hand of the same Irishman who killed a brother.

You can't kid yourself anymore, realizing that no one is safe inside or outside the club. You want to believe that some are immune to it all, but the fact that Tara was also nearly killed on the same night and in the same moment as Half-Sack was more than enough to not only set your teeth on-edge, but also was more than enough to keep your tensions aflame.

The lockdown becomes more heated and much more tightly-wound than you were prepared for, but you are grateful for the extra precautions. The wake for your brother is in full-swing when you realize that Bea cannot leave your side for your reasons and for hers.

She is lovely, especially now in all-black, respect unwavering as she continues to keep her head held high in spite of what all has happened. She is as stoic and adamant as ever, her curls flowing loosely over her shoulders as she chats with some of the other old ladies. She holds your hand decidedly, her eyes wanting you to understand that she is there with you and that she loves you. This reminder is much-needed, particularly after what happens next.

A dark van's attack on the wake startles all. Masked figures all in darkness shoot up those attending the wake and run over an officer. A small boy is killed in the drive-by shooting that ensues and your nerves are on-end as you fall to the ground and take Bea down with you.

The pavement is rough and your hand grips a portion of her leg where her hose has torn and you feel the scrape on her skin. Of course, that's when the worst happens.

"My God," Bea groans, and your eyes follow hers. Her hand is gripping her thigh. The blood seeps through her fingers, and her expression turns to one of worry. "Oh, God, Filip..."

"Bea...?" you say, your hands flying to her limb to help as if two sets of hands can keep her from bleeding out. The worry is almost enough to make you pass out, but you don't. Not now.

Right now, the love of your life is bleeding onto the pavement, the black dyes of her clothing now stained with iron-strong blood.

She won't die. Not here. Not like this. Not Bea.


	8. Bea IV

Your leg aches like a sonuvabitch, but you fight back the pain by swallowing your next dose of painkillers. You gently massage the area around the wound, careful not to press too hard, and the hardened lump of healing tissue relinquishes a portion of its grip at your soothing touch. The bullet had been easily removed, much to your every happiness, but Chibs is less certain and you can feel that he is troubled.

He believes that your wound was his fault alone and has been kicking himself - both literally and figuratively - since that day. Though it has been nearly two weeks, you know that it was not his fault in the slightest. Convincing him of this, however, will take much more time.

You insist that his self-blame is preposterous, but he is so stubborn sometimes. He always has to have a scapegoat, and now that said being is himself, he is even more torn than ever.

The two of you sit across from one another at the small table in your kitchen. As you sip your tea, you can tell something is weighing on his mind aside from his need for self-retribution.

"What's on your mind?" you inquire softly, eyes conveying the gentility of your heart.

Chibs' eyes meet yours. "The MC is going to Belfast," he says, and your heart sinks.

"Is Abel in Belfast?"

He nods. "We have to go and retrieve him."

"'We.'" Your repetition forces him to nod. "So _you_ are going as well."

"Jax needs mah help now more than eva."

Your gaze falls to your hands as you remove your elbows from the table. "Fiona is in Belfast." Your pause is daunting as you rise from the table, limping your way over to the sink. You know that rest and elevation are the best helpers of your injury, but your heart hurts even more than the healing bullet wound in your calf. "She'll try to get at you."

"So?"

The sound of his indifferent tone sets your teeth on edge. You lean back against the counter as you turn to face him. "Is that all you have to say? She still _wants_ you, Filip. And I...I can't be there to stop her."

"_I_ will be there and _I_ will stop her," he encourages, eyes meeting yours with an urgency.

"How? She has Kerrianne with her. You know she'll try and get you back. I'm not comfortable knowing that she will undoubtedly be spending time with you. She really fucked your life up." You know of the extent of the psychological damage Fiona left in Chibs' life, and the very mention of being in that woman's presence again is enough to piss you off.

"I won' le' her affect me li'e that anymore. She cannae take me away from yeh, and neither can the club." He rises from his seat and approaches you slowly. "Besides, spendin' time with Kerrianne will be nice. She an' I ha' never really bonded as fadda and daughta."

Your eyes meet his as he is placing his hands firmly on the edge of the counter by where your hands are perched, and a sigh escapes your lips. "You will text me whenever you're leaving for a run."

Chibs nods. "Done."

"You will call me every single night and tell me about your day so that I know you're alright and so I can get to sleep."

"Yeh won' lose me, especially not to de Irish. The past is in da past, love."

A resolute expression firms your brow and stiffens your expression as gaze pours into gaze. "If Fiona wants to start somethin', have that bitch call me and I'll put her in her fucking place."

Chibs snickers at what you say and he nods, letting your words sink in.

Every moment from that second until the club is set to depart overseas is spent with Chibs. There is heated sex, to be sure, but also fireside chats and stolen kisses and gentle showers. Each and every fiber of your being is aching at the thought of losing him and your heart breaks when it comes time for him to leave you. Still, you are at his side, hand through his and love abounding.

All loving feelings and positive vibes are being sent between you as you see him off to the truck that will be taking them to the airport.

"Be safe," you plead with him, forehead against his and heartstrings pulling tight so as not to lose him.

"Ditto," he whispers, work-calloused fingers stroking the sides of your face. You think he is going to grace you with a sweet, unmoving kiss to the lips before leaving, stagefright overcoming his physical pull to your mouth. You are so delightfully wrong. Chibs doesn't pull away and, instead, cascades his lips across yours in the tenderest of meshes. Lips move in syncopation with other lips and hearts swell as tongues entwine and a deep sense of longing is reflected in an even deeper kiss.

The heat in your cheeks rises as your arms circle his neck to pull him in tighter, sensations aflutter and heart pounding. He pulls you into himself by the waist, keeping you close as he lifts your feet from the ground before breaking the kiss to tightly embrace you one final time.

Tears roll down your cheeks in a silent cry, missing him already as skins depart and his arm is outstretched in your direction. You want to wave, but, instead, you smile through the pain, the emotional destruction proving as a counterbalance to the physical wound that is not his fault, and the love you bear him for which he, most assuredly, is to blame.


End file.
